


Two Years

by luvsanime02



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Depression, Gen, Language, M/M, Past Character Death, Possibly Unrequited Love, Suicidal Thoughts, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 07:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6228955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvsanime02/pseuds/luvsanime02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy has been waiting two years now for Edward to wake up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Years

**Disclaimer:**  I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, and this is for pleasure, not profit. I would never insult Arakawa Hiromu by implying otherwise.

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 **Two Years**  by luvsanime02

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Edward was asleep. Then again, Edward was always asleep these days.

Roy was sitting on an extremely uncomfortable chair that he had long since grown used to. Once again he contemplated slitting his wrists that night when he finally went home.

He didn't really think that he would ever go through with it. If nothing else, exhaustion usually rendered him incapable of doing more than stumbling to his couch and collapsing on it until the nightmares took over. Still, the idea had slowly grown in his mind from a desperate act of despair to a more clinical curiosity of what it would feel like, and Roy _knew_ that was a bad sign but he couldn't quite dredge up the effort to give a damn.

It was mental stress that was always the more exhausting, not physical. Hell, Roy hadn't done anything more than was absolutely required of him since- Well, not in a long time.

He was alone. He always came here alone now. He and Lieutenant Hawkeye took shifts sitting on this piece of crap they called a chair, with some occasional help from the others. Most notably Miss Rockbell, but she couldn't always handle sitting here and dealing with Edward’s perpetual unresponsiveness.

"Ed," Roy called out, his voice a harsh rasp. He had to stop and work some saliva down his throat. Had he even spoken to anyone today? He couldn't remember. Not that it mattered, really, in the long run.

The beeps of the monitors were monotonous. Roy hated them almost more than he hated the fact that Edward wouldn't wake up. At first, he’d been relieved by their sounds, the steady pulse mimicking the beat of Edward's heart. Now, though…

These days, the endless beeping was nothing more than relentless and mocking laughter. _Two years_ , part of his brain whispered, but that was white noise to him by now.

"Ed," he called again, and it was a call. Every day. For two years, part of every goddamn day was spent here; sometimes yelling, sometimes pleading, whispering, begging, but always, always calling.

In a way, Roy had never been so glad to be Edward's superior officer than he had been that day two years ago, and all the weeks afterwards when everyone had still held onto the hope that Edward would soon wake up. None of his superior officers had questioned why he’d visited. He had just been doing his duty for a fellow soldier under his command, after all.

Roy had even managed to spin the fallout and blame the whole incident on Scar. Some days Roy spent his whole time while sitting with Edward trying to make his own mind believe that the scarred Ishvalan really had been at fault.

Too bad all it took was looking back over at Edward for Roy to remember the truth, and then he'd inevitably spend the next ten minutes forcing himself to forget again.

At first, they'd tried bringing everyone in here, recounting stories and sharing gossip. When that had done nothing, things had grown silent, both at the office and in Edward's room. The reassurances from everyone left, and in their place Roy’s mind formed visions of that night replaying its macabre finale.

"Wake up," Roy whispered. Nothing answered him but the sound of machines, and if Roy leaned very close, Edward's breathing.

Not for the first time, Roy wondered if Edward knew what had happened that night, knew the outcome and just didn't ever want to wake back up again. If so, Roy certainly couldn't blame him. Other times, he wondered if the reason why Edward never responded was because Roy wasn't the right person. None of them were.

"Wake up, Ed," he ordered, suddenly unable to keep his voice low, nearly shouting, and he spent the next minute wondering if some nurse nearby would hear him and demand that he leave. Roy wondered why the hell he didn't get up and walk out anyway, save what little was left of his sanity, but he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving this room a second earlier than he had to.

The lump forming in Roy’s throat choked him, and he closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing in deeply through his nose. His eyes opened again, but there was no change. Why did it kill him every single time to see that Edward hadn't opened his own eyes when Roy was looking away?

It was getting late. Roy would be forced to leave soon, because superior officer or not, there were visiting hours. Pushing to stay longer would result in too much fuss, even if Roy never really felt ready to pull himself away from Edward's side.

Two years now. Edward was eighteen. Hell, he would be nineteen in a few months. Was he going to spend the rest of his life just sleeping? The tears started then against his will, because Roy couldn't seem to go one damn day without them anymore, even if the only proof they ever existed were the wet tracks down his face. He reached a trembling hand out, his fingers always ungloved now in case skin contact was the trigger that woke Edward up. Gently, Roy ran his index finger softly down Edward's cheek.

He didn't have the right to touch Edward like that, and as always, his hand yanked back as though burned. Still, the feeling would remain with Roy until the next day, a brand on his skin that no amount of water and soap could ever rinse away. He already knew he’d offer up his soul to be branded by Edward, if he would just wake up. Roy was a masochist, apparently. There was no other explanation.

There was also no excuse in the world, no explanation if someone were to walk in right at this moment, for Roy's lips to tentatively brush against Edward's. They were dry, but soft underneath the roughness, and Roy really had no right to do what he had just done. A conscious Edward would have kicked him in the balls before he walked away. Maybe Roy really was a masochist, because he could think of nothing he wanted more than to kiss Edward when he was awake.

Roy tilted his face up so the tears wouldn't blind his eyesight, looking at the wall instead of at the young man in the bed who still wouldn't wake up, no matter what Roy did. And he'd tried everything. Hell, they all had, but nothing was enough. Nothing any of them did had ever been enough to make Edward truly happy.

"Ed," he called, always one more time, not quite daring to take his gaze from the wall just yet, "wake up. Please wake the hell up. You can't do this to us. You damn well cannot do this to me, so please wake up already."

Silence.

"Alphonse is furious with you, you know." Roy could barely choke the words out, an indescribable noise leaving his throat right after, something that should never come from a human being. "That's- that’s why he won't come."

Roy felt bile rising up fast in his throat and he almost gagged, unable to continue. He struggled not to retch at the memories just saying that name out loud invoked. Instead, he bit down hard on the meaty portion of his thumb, focusing on the physical pain until he could breathe again, before he slowly let go.

"Wake up," he whispered, furious and so damn sick of this room and everything in it, especially himself. "Wake up and quit running away, Ed."

He stood up without knowing why, only to have his anger drain away as quickly as it had come.

"You know, don't you?" he finally asked. There was no response. As Roy stood sentinel by the bed, looking down, he recalled that night so many years ago in the rain, searching for his own atonement and seeing the flash of alchemy. A child lying on a bed and swathed in bandages. Roy had been shaken by what they'd done, two little boys who didn't know that taboo meant impossible to survive, and so they had. Roy remembered what he’d found in that basement, how he’d set fire to the gasping, clawing creature that had still somehow been breathing, despite being inside out.

Roy blinked to shake the memory away. Edward didn’t move.

Roy had tried almost everything. It had been two fucking years now, and everyone else had done everything they could, everything but say out loud what had happened two years ago, because Roy was the only one who knew. Him, and maybe Edward.

His philosophical certainty that everything humans did eventually came back full circle had never quite horrified Roy down to his bones as it had that night two years ago. Alchemists really were the worst creatures on the planet.

Finally, after two years, Roy bent his head down until he could speak the truth softly into Edward’s ear. "You know it didn't work. He came back. You brought him back, but he was wrong. And I had no choice. Again. You know that, don't you?" Roy clenched his teeth against the pain of the memory.

Again, there was a body inside out, rasping breaths, heat and smoke and garbled screams, a struggle for life in something that couldn't speak but could clearly see. Only this time not from all those years ago in the Elric’s basement. Roy would give anything to forget, even his own life, but it was  _two years_ ago now, and still not a day went by that he didn’t remember Alphonse’s final breaths, didn’t see over and over again Edward collapse in the dying light of the failed transmutation.

Roy would welcome Edward's retribution if he would only wake up. He didn’t.

More tears. Roy didn't think he'd ever run out, didn't see how he could. "Ed," he called, repeating the name softly, a prayer from an atheist to someone who hadn't answered for two years.

Silence.

"I'm leaving now." A pause. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

There was rain against the window, and he didn't have an umbrella. Not that it mattered. One last look while standing in the doorway and then he walked out, taking the back stairs to avoid someone looking at his face.

Out into the cold rain, and Roy contemplated taking a warm bath when he got home. He'd heard that your wrists bled out quicker in warm water. Ah, but he was too tired again. And that was a good thing. He didn't have the right to take his own life anymore. It belonged to Edward Elric now.

Roy would let him do anything he wanted with it if only Edward would finally wake up.


End file.
